Go Ask Alice
by Makkitotosimew
Summary: The mostly APOV companion tale to I Have Seen the Rain. I wouldn't recommend reading it if you're not caught up to at least chapter 10 in IHSTR. Otherwise, spoiler city! You've been warned. Rated M for war violence and such. *Nom'd for an Indie TwiFic!*
1. Travelin' Soldier

**Here it is, ladies - the mostly APOV companion to I Have Seen the Rain. This isn't a rehashing of IHSTR from Alice's perspective, but rather Alice's own personal story. You wanted to know how Alice came to be Alice, what her motivation for protesting was? Well, this is it. Alice's story. It's very different from the original, and I hope you'll like that about it. That said, as it's planned now only this first chapter will have a song associated with it.**

**A huge, _enormous, unreasonable amount of thanks to my incredible beta (incredibeta?), MrsDazzled. Seriously, that woman has got an eye like a hawk with an English degree. Here I consider myself an irritating Grammar Nazi and she finds like three dozen mistakes in the first chapter alone. She's good._**

**IHSTR may be Fer's fic, but this one belongs to bent05, without whom it would never have been written. You should be a journalist or something, bb, askin' the questions everyone wants answers to but never bothers to ask themselves. Hale, you asked a question I hadn't even bothered to ask myself and immediately found myself itching to know the answer. You truly inspired me and your reviews keep me going. Hopefully you like your answer. :)**

**Oh, and just as with IHSTR, I am not Stephenie Meyer and I do not own Twilight, Alice, or Alice's soldier. Mark my words though, one day I _will_ own he who portrayed Alice's soldier in the movies 'cause he is num-yummy! hehe**

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_I cried  
Never gonna hold the hand of another guy  
Too young for him they told her  
Waitin' for the love of a travelin' soldier  
Our love will never end  
Waitin' for the soldier to come back again  
Never more to be alone when the letter said  
A soldier's comin' home_

- "Travelin' Soldier", The Dixie Chicks

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**APOV**

"_I'm coming home, Alice. I can't wait to see you."_

I read the same line for at least the seventeenth time. The letter said he was coming home – coming home to _me_ – but I just couldn't make my head or my heart believe it. I wanted him to come home, I wanted it more than almost anything at all, but if I let myself believe he really _would_ be home soon and he didn't come home… I didn't think I could survive that. It would be too much to get my hopes up, only to have them dashed to pieces like that. It would break me. _It would turn me into Rosalie…_

_Poor Rose._ I'd watched her go through so much, watched a simple piece of paper change her world forever. I hadn't told her at the time - I hadn't told anyone other than Edward - but I knew what that was like. While she sulked at home, praying for any word from her soldier, I sobbed quietly in my own apartment, blowing off the weekly meetings to pray for my own recruit's recovery.

"_It hurt so bad, Alice, I don't even want to tell you about it. But I know you're strong, stronger than I am, and you wouldn't want me sugar-coating things," _he'd written. And he was right – I didn't want him sugar-coating anything. I wanted to know the truth, wanted to know exactly how bad it was over there. Lies got me nowhere. Lies got us into this damn war in the first place. _Lies nearly got him killed…_ I had no use for lies.

"_We were running through the jungle. I didn't know a dozen men weighed down with arms and equipment could be so quiet. All I could hear were sticks and twigs being crushed under our feet. We came up to a clearing. The sun was bright, almost blinding. Birds were flying overhead. It was almost peaceful, almost felt like home. Then I heard it. A high-pitched squealing, getting louder and louder. The men were shouting incoherently behind me. I turned to see what the fuss was about – they were scattering everywhere, taking cover. The squealing grew louder still and I barely had time to look up toward it before it happened. The flash was so bright I thought the sun had exploded. The silence was horrifying. The clearing was gone, everything was burned, obliterated. Plants not far from me were still on fire. I wanted to get up and run away, get the hell out of Dodge… but I couldn't. I couldn't make my legs move. Men were swarming around me. Davis was right in my face, shouting at me, but I couldn't understand a word he was saying. He kept swaying around me and I wanted to tell him to stop moving. But when he got all blurry, I realized it wasn't him. I tried to tell him I needed help but everything went black. The next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital. It hurt so bad. I opened my eyes and I screamed. A nurse came and stuck me with something, promising it would make the pain stop. When I stopped screaming, she told me I was lucky. She said two of the men in my unit had been killed in the blast and three more were seriously injured. She thought they might not make it. I asked where I ranked on that list and she said I'd make it but things wouldn't be the same anymore. She told me I'd broken my leg, but that that didn't really matter, since I'd also suffered a spinal cord injury. I didn't hear what she said after that. I looked down at my feet and watched as they stayed perfectly still, no matter how hard I wiggled them."_

I could feel the tears stinging my eyes even thinking about the letter that had broken my heart. My heart hurt every time my mind tried to picture him the way he'd described. It felt like someone had stabbed me in the chest and let all the air out of my lungs. Thinking about him like that, all alone in that hospital bed, undoubtedly terrified… I couldn't do it. I stared back down at the letter in front of me.

"_I'm coming home, Alice."_

I closed my eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay, and thought about how ironic it was that all my friends thought I was constantly perky. Even Edward seemed to be under that impression. _If they only knew…_ None of them had ever bothered to ask about the man that inspired me to start the protest group. I wondered what they thought my reasons for it were, if they'd ever thought about it at all. They probably just thought I'd finally found a cause to put all my energy into. They couldn't know about my soldier. I'd never told them. Honestly, I didn't think I'd ever have to; I never thought he'd write me. But he did, and with surprising frequency. I thought back to the day I met him – the day he promised he would write – and immediately hated myself for ever doubting him.

_It was a Thursday, my grocery day, and I was sitting on the same bench I did every week, waiting for the bus to come. As always, I was the only one there and I quickly became bored. After seven months of the same routine, I probably should have learned to bring a book or something but I never did. I always sat alone, staring into the distance and humming to myself. No one ever joined me and no one walking by ever bothered me. It was easy for me to just get lost in the music in my head until the bus pulled up._

"_You know that song's about drugs, right?" a thick, masculine Southern accent drawled. I looked up to see a strikingly handsome blonde standing before me, nearly every inch of his roughly 6'2 frame covered by Army-issue fatigues._

"_No, it's not," I argued. "It's about a girl named Lucy." Duh._

"_Oh, come on!" he said, sitting down on the bench next to me. "I know they say the pretty ones aren't the brightest, but darlin', even someone as pretty as you can't be __that__ naïve."_

"_I'm not naïve. And it's not about drugs." But I'm glad you think I'm pretty._

"_Have you __heard__ the lyrics? 'Picture yourself on a boat in the river, with tangerine trees and marmalade skies? Follow her down to a bridge by a fountain, where rocking horse people eat marshmallow pies?' That's a bad trip if ever I heard one." The man knew his Beatles… or at least their lyrics. I didn't even waste time trying to convince myself I didn't thoroughly enjoy that._

"_It's not a bad trip. It's just… fantastical."_

_He smiled at me and I felt my heart skip a beat. I didn't think it was possible for a smile to outshine the sun. Clearly I'd been wrong. "You're one of them chicks who thinks Lennon's totally clean, aren't ya?"_

"_Ha. Ha," I retorted, a sarcastic grin on my face. "I told you, I'm not naïve."_

"_So you say."_

_We sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment, me fuming, him obviously trying not to laugh at me. A moment was all it took though. He was too handsome to stay mad at and I was tired of the awkwardness. I looked down at the duffel bag he'd put on the ground between us and kicked it lightly with the side of my foot. "Why are you going?" I mumbled._

"_What?"_

"_Why. Are. You. Going?"_

"_Well, that's, uh, kinda how the Army works there, darlin'. They say 'jump', you say 'how high, Sir?'"_

"_Yeah… I know that… but why are you going? Why'd you enlist?"_

"_My country needs me."_

"_That's not true."_

"_Sure it is. Who else you think is gonna fight this war?"_

"_Oh, I don't know. Maybe Vietnamese soldiers? Last I checked, this was between North and South Vietnam. And seeing as how I'm waiting for a bus, not a rickshaw, I'm pretty sure we're not in either of those places right now."_

"_Y'always this sardonic?"_

"_Maybe."_

"_I shouldn't expect ya to be impressed, should I?"_

"_Impressed? By what, your vocabulary? Ooh. Kudos. Ten-point vocab word. Want a gold star?"_

"_Guess not. Y'always so snippy with people you just met?"_

"_I don't remember meeting you."_

"_That's a 'yes'. An' you're right. I've been rude, an' I'm sorry." He reached his hand out toward me. "Private First Class Jasper Whitlock Hale."_

"_Whitlock? Seriously?" I laughed. "That's… unique."_

"_It's a family name. Mom's maiden name, actually. Any chance I might get to know yours?"_

_I smiled nervously, resisting the urge to tell him a maiden name is a strange thing to ask a stranger about, and shook his hand. "Alice Marie Brandon. Private… citizen."_

"_Pleased to meet you, Alice."_

"_Likewise, Private."_

_He chuckled and his laughter made his eyes sparkle like the ocean under a full moon. "Unless you're issuin' me orders, it's Jasper."_

"_Jasper, then."_

_Silence settled over our bench for a short time again but it was far more companionable than the previous time. And this time, I didn't have to break it. "Where's your bus takin' ya, Alice?"_

"_Uhm… the Safeway? Thursday is my grocery shopping day." I hadn't meant the first part to come out as a question; I just couldn't figure out why he wanted to know._

"_Any chance that can wait a couple more hours?"_

"_I guess so."_

"_There ain't someone waitin' at home for ya, is there?"_

"…_No?" Another unintentional question. I cursed myself internally for my curiosity and confusion always being so blatantly obvious to people. I was a damn open book._

"_Good," he said with a smirk, another twinkle sparkling in his eye. He stood and reached a hand out to me._

"_Why?"_

"_Well, I was kinda hopin' you might be willin' to accompany a lonely soldier to lunch before he has to leave." His face was the strangest mix of confidence and nerves. His smile said 'I know you're gonna join me' but his eyes said 'Please don't turn me down.' I could feel my lips curl up into a wide smile of their own accord. I couldn't say no to a request like that… especially not when it came from someone who looked and talked like that. And especially not when even his eyes and his smile seemed to have his accent._

"_I would love to." I slid my hand into his and he helped me up from the bench before picking up his duffel bag with his free hand. "What did you have in mind?"_

"_I dunno. There's a lil diner down the road a bit. That okay with you?"_

"_Absolutely."_

_We talked and asked each other the most random and seemingly unimportant questions while we walked to the diner._

"_Jasper… how long have you been here?"_

"_My family moved here when I was eight. Why?"_

"_And that was how long ago?"_

"_Well, I'm twenty-two now, so that would make it about fourteen years."_

"_How come your accent's still so thick?"_

"_Never worked to get rid of it. I kinda like it. Makes me unique 'round here. 'Specially seein' as how my sister worked her lil butt off the first two years we were here makin' sure she sounded __nothin'__ like me an' our dad."_

"_I like it too."_

"_Glad to hear that, darlin'."_

_He held the door open for me when we reached the diner, and pretended to pull my booth seat out for me when we were seated, saying he would've really pulled it out for me if we'd had chairs. When the waitress came by, he ordered us each a milkshake and a burger. Usually I would've been annoyed by some guy ordering for me but somehow he managed to do it in a sweet way. And he knew exactly what I wanted, down to my preference of vanilla milkshakes over chocolate and my hatred of pickles on my burger. I started to ask how he'd known that but decided it didn't really matter. Maybe I was just more of an open book than I'd originally thought and maybe he knew just how to read me._

_When our lunch arrived, the interrogation began again._

"_How is it that there ain't someone waitin' for ya at home?"_

"_Huh?"_

"_I mean… pretty girl like you should have someone there for her, even if it's just family an' not some guy who don't know how lucky he is."_

"_Oh… It's a long story. A long, boring story."_

"_I'd like to know… if you'd like to tell me."_

"_Well… uhm… my dad died a couple years ago. He was really sick, so I guess it was a good thing, but mom couldn't stand being in the house they'd bought together anymore. She took my little sister and moved to Boston. She was raised out there and her sister – my aunt – still lives there with her husband. They wanted me to go with them but all I've ever known is Chicago. I couldn't leave it behind. So I found a cheap apartment in the city and stayed when they left. I haven't seen them since."_

"_Oh, darlin'… I am so sorry. That's horrible."_

"_No, it's okay. Really. I like the privacy. And this way I can sing and dance around my apartment in my underwear if I want… That's probably the sort of thing I shouldn't tell strangers, huh?"_

"_Probably. But hey, I'm not a stranger anymore. We've been formally introduced, after all. And I don't blame you for dancin' around in your undies. It's really kinda liberatin', ain't it?" He winked at me and I couldn't help but laugh._

"_Yeah. It is."_

_I watched in disgusted horror as he filled the silence by dipping his fries into his chocolate milkshake._

"_What're you lookin' at me like that for?"_

"_That's disgusting," I replied, nodding toward the fry-and-shake combination._

"_Don't knock it 'til you try it, darlin'," he said. He dipped another fry in his milkshake and held it out slightly. "Open up."_

"_Oh, hell no. No way."_

"_Just try it."_

"_No."_

"_For me?" I had to give him credit – he had the puppy dog eye thing down even better than I did. I sighed and conceded, closing my eyes and opening my mouth. He gently placed the shake-coated tip of the fry on my tongue and let me bite off an appropriate amount. The combination of hot and cold was strange and interesting and the mixture of the sweet chocolate ice cream with the salt from the French fry was oddly delicious. It was like the two flavors were made to go together, the salt highlighting the sweet just right. "Better than you thought it'd be, right?" Instead of responding, I swallowed what was left of the fry and opened my mouth for another, eliciting a deep and alluring laugh from my soldier. "I'm gonna go ahead an' take that as a 'yes'," he chuckled, popping another shake-dipped fry in my mouth._

_When we'd finished sharing our lunches and the waitress had cleared the table, Jasper asked for an order of peach cobbler – and two spoons. My curiosity quickly became overwhelming._

"_How did you know I love peaches?" I inquired, astonishment thick in my voice._

"_I didn't," he shrugged. "I love a good peach cobbler as much as the next Southern boy, an' since I got you to try the fries my way, I hoped I might be able to get you to try dessert my way too."_

"_How'd you know I prefer vanilla shakes?"_

"_Lucky guess. Chocolate might be great to the average woman but you're anythin' but average. An' strawberry seemed too predictable as a chocolate replacement."_

"_You thought all that out in the time it took you to order my milkshake?"_

"_No. I thought all that out in the time it took __you__ to drill me about my accent," he winked._

"_What about the pickles?" I must have sounded absolutely incredulous to him. I couldn't believe he'd actually had a process for figuring out what I preferred in food and drink. If that much thought had gone into a simple milkshake, surely the reason for his knowledge that I hate pickles had to be even better._

"_Habit. I hate 'em myself, so I'm used to askin' for things without 'em." Oh. We sat quietly until our cobbler arrived and we started picking at it tentatively. A part of me thought that maybe if I ate slowly enough, the afternoon would never end and Jasper would never have to leave. I wondered if a part of him thought that too._

"_Alice… can I ask you somethin'?" He sounded nervous. I almost laughed at how silly it was that he should be nervous about asking me something when I'd spent the entire afternoon interrogating him like an FBI agent._

"_You just did."_

"_You know what I mean."_

"_Of course you can."_

"_This is gonna sound real stupid, but… uh… see… I ain't got nobody to write to when I'm gone…"_

"_Didn't you say you have a sister?"_

"_Yeah, but Lee-Lee… she ain't really the type to like to know what's goin' on. She prefers blissful ignorance…"_

"_There's no such thing."_

"_That's what I been tellin' her for the past twenty-two years. But, anyway… uhm… could I… I mean… would it be okay if… if I wrote to you?"_

"_You really think your sister would prefer you wrote to a stranger than to her?"_

"_Actually, yeah, I do. But, like I said before, you ain't a stranger to me anymore, Alice. Even if I do end up writin' to Lee-Lee, I think I'd still like to write to you. Somethin' tells me I'm gonna miss you when I leave."_

"_You just met me, Jasper."_

"_Don't feel like that, though, does it?"_

"_No. No, it doesn't."_

"_So… could I, then?"_

"_Would it sound stupid if I said I would be honored to have you write to me?"_

"_No. Actually, it would sound kinda nice. Flatterin', even."_

"_In that case, I would be honored to have you write to me, Jasper."_

"_In that case, I'll write to you every chance I get. And the honor'll be all mine."_

_He paid the bill, leaving a surprisingly hefty tip for the waitress, and helped me up from my seat before throwing his arm around me and leading me out the door. As we left the diner, I wrapped my arm around his waist and held on to him as tightly as I could. It should have felt intrusive and wrong being that close to someone I had just met – I knew that – but it didn't. It felt __right__. Everything just felt __right__ as we walked back to our bench to await our busses. Just sitting there on that bench with his arms around me felt right. It was like there wasn't a single thing wrong in my entire slightly messed up life… until a bus pulled up to the stop and I felt Jasper's hold on me loosen._

"_Alice… that's my bus… I gotta get goin'. I don't wanna, believe me, but I have to …"_

"_I know," I said to my lap, trying not to let him see the tears I could feel brewing in my eyes. I felt foolish crying over someone I'd just met. But at the same time, we'd connected so easily, clicked so thoroughly, that I felt like I'd known him all my life. When he let go of me and stood up, it felt like he took a piece of me with him. I wanted it back. I jumped up from the bench and threw my arms around his neck, hugging him as tightly to me as I could. He wrapped his arms around me and held me like he never wanted to let me go. I leaned back slightly and tucked a neatly folded napkin into his shirt pocket, patting the flap down affectionately and relishing the feel of having my hand on his chest. He looked at me, curious and clearly a little amused. "My address. I wrote it down at the diner while you were paying the bill," I smiled at him sadly. He returned the smile and pulled me into another tight hug. "Promise me you'll write?" I sniffled into his chest._

"_Darlin', I already told you I would. I meant it. Nothin's gonna stop me from gettin' letters to you." His voice was strained, like he was holding something back. I looked up at him just in time to see a solitary tear slide down the side of his nose. I wiped it away with my thumb, leaving my hand on his smooth cheek. His piercing sky blue eyes looked so deeply into mine I thought he might see my soul. It made me nervous and excited all at once._

"_Stay safe," I sniffled, never breaking eye contact with him or taking my hand from his gorgeous face._

"_I will," he whispered._

"_I'll miss you."_

"_I'll miss you too, darlin'," he drawled, placing his hand on my cheek._

"_I won't… I'll wait for you."_

"_Don't you do somethin' silly like that. The male population of Chicago would never forgive me."_

"_I want to. I've never met anyone like you."_

"_I never met anyone like you either."_

_The bus driver leaned on the horn. "Unless you're planning on going AWOL, soldier, you better get your ass on this bus __now__!"_

"_Sorry, sir!" Jasper shouted, his eyes still locked on mine. "Could I get just a minute to say goodbye to my girl? Please?"_

"_You got sixty seconds, soldier!"_

"_Thank you, sir!"_

"_Jasper… you… you really need to leave now," I mumbled, fighting back a fresh round of tears._

"_I know. And I will. But… there's somethin' I gotta do first. Otherwise, it'll be all I can think about over there."_

"_Then do it. The last thing you need right now is a distraction."_

"_You're right." He moved his hand down to the side of my neck and pulled my face gently toward his. My heart raced with the strangest combination of anticipation and dread as he lowered his lips to meet mine. I wanted him to kiss me – a part of me had wanted it from the first moment he'd spoken to me – but something in me knew it would almost be better to not know what I would be missing once he was gone. The moment his lips touched mine, my heart imploded and the tears I'd been holding back streamed down my face and onto his. He kissed me passionately as I fell apart in his arms._

_The horn honked again. "Time's up, soldier!"_

_He held my face in his hands, resting his forehead on mine. "I gotta go, darlin'. I'll write you soon as I find paper and a pen, I swear." He kissed me again once, softly and quickly, before bending down to pick up his bag._

"_I miss you," I whispered brushing my fingers against his free hand. I meant it in the present – I already missed him, already felt like I wasn't whole anymore._

"_I miss you too," he said as he climbed the steps up onto the bus. I wondered if he meant it the same way I had. I watched him find a seat on the bus. He opened the window next to him and leaned out of it slightly, shouting to me as the bus pulled away. "Two years, Alice! Two years and I'll be comin' back to you!"_

_I waved sadly at him until the bus was out of sight. Then I sat back on the bench, feeling alone for the first time in that place, and sobbed until I ran out of tears. Grocery shopping could wait._

A week after I met Jasper, the guilt at letting him get on that bus and go needlessly risk his life was eating me away. I needed to do something, needed to make it better, needed to bring him back. I called a few friends and told them about how I'd met a soldier, learned what it was really like for someone my age to be at war, and decided I needed to do something. I told them I had no personal connection, just a strong hatred for clear injustice. I lied. Two weeks later, we had the city covered in flyers advertising the first local protest meeting. At the start we had maybe five new members, if we were lucky. But we recruited like crazy and the group slowly started to grow. We were planning our first big city-wide event when they started up the draft. Our numbers really exploded then. I knew it was only a matter of time until it made a difference and Jasper came home to me.

He'd said two years and I'd hated the concept for as long as I could remember. Two years seemed like an eternity. I never dreamed he'd be home before that, but suddenly he would be coming home six months early, and two years didn't seem like nearly enough time. Two years was normal deployment time for an enlisted soldier – anything less meant something catastrophic had happened. And while he'd already explained it all, already told me all about the horrific event that was bringing him home to me early, I knew it would be an entirely different thing to see him that way in person. It brought up so many questions… How bad were his injuries? Were they all as obvious as his paralyzation? Would he ever walk again? _Maybe if he worked really hard he could learn… _ I knew it wasn't possible but I couldn't stop myself from hoping. _Oh God…_ How would his sister handle it? Would she even want to see him again? What if seeing him after all that was too much for her? _What if seeing him like that is too much for _me_? No. He's still the same man you met so long ago… the same man who wrote you all those letters… the same man you fell in love with from over 8000 miles away. __Nothing__ is going to change that_. I looked down at the letter in front of me again and noticed the ink had been smudged by the tears I didn't even realize I'd been crying.

"_I'm coming home, Alice. I can't wait to see you."_

_I can't wait to see you either, baby._


	2. March 21, 1969 Jasper

***deep breath* Okay, here we go. I told you it was a style I don't remember seeing before and here it is. I know it results in incredibly short chapters but I don't think that's necessarily a _bad_ thing. Hopefully you agree. Let me know.**

**This _was_ originally written in a nice little handwriting font that seemed to say "Jasper" to me, but _nooooo_, FFn has to only use one damn font. Guess that means no pretty "Alice" handwriting next chapter either. Oh wells.**

**As per usual:  
- I'm not Stephenie Meyer (I just like to play with Jasper, hehe)  
- Major thanks to my incredibeta, MrsDazzled, and my three inspirations, bent05, Fer, and Billy Joel. (And no, I'm not kidding, Billy Joel really does inspire me. Well, his songs, Michael Cavanaugh's voice. lol)  
- Reviews make me go *smile***

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March 21, 1969

Dear Alice,

The moment this war started, I knew enlisting was the right thing to do. I've heard all the arguments against it, heard all the protest chants, but I still felt it was something I needed to do. It's like I was born to be a soldier, like God put me on this earth to fight the good fight. I never doubted that, not even once– not until I met you.

It sounds so stupid, so tacky, I can't believe I'm even writing it, but sitting on that bench changed everything for me, Alice. You changed everything for me. How one tiny stranger could turn my whole world upside down in only a couple hours, I'll never know, but you did. Forgive me if I sound insane or if I'm being rash or coming on too strong, but I was right when I told you I knew I'd miss you. There's something special about you. I don't know what it is, but I intend to figure it out, no matter how long that takes.

I remember thinking that maybe, just maybe, if I kissed you before I left it would give me something to hold on to while I'm here. I thought if the last thing I felt before fear and adrenaline took over was hope, that maybe I could hang on to that while I was gone and maybe I wouldn't spend all my time wondering "what if?" I was an idiot. That one moment won't leave my mind. It's like there's a film reel in my head playing out my last moments in the city and the film always jams at the same point. I won't complain– it's the best movie I've ever seen. But it always ends in a cliffhanger. I'm always left hoping the screen will show "To be continued…" and there will be a sequel. I'm always left wondering if leaving was the right thing to do after all.

I wish I hadn't had to leave. I wish there were any degree of honor whatsoever in going AWOL. I wish I could have stayed in Chicago and gotten to know you in person. The selfish part of me wishes I had met you months earlier so I would have that much more of your memory to cling to, that much more to brag to the men in my unit about. The saner part of me almost wishes I hadn't met you at all– then I wouldn't know what I'm missing. It's that same sane part of me that almost hopes you're not waiting for this letter, that you were just being nice to a lonely soldier and you're not missing me like I'm missing you. I can't help but think meeting when we did will only ever cause us pain, and while I'm prepared to suck it up for the pleasure of getting to know you better, I'm not sure I like the idea of you suffering at all for me. I hope that doesn't sound as stupid to you as it does in my head right now.

I don't know what more to say. I don't know that I should tell you any "news from the front," so to speak. It's not against regulations or anything; I just don't know that you'd want to know. It's all real quiet here so far, not at all like I expected it to be. I hope that's how it usually is and I didn't just happen to arrive at a good time, if there is such a thing. I suspect things will get much more active very soon. I can't imagine them shipping us all over here just to sit around and have tea with the Viet Cong, you know? That's not how war works.

I won't say any more. I don't want to frighten you.

I hope this letter reaches you in good spirits and that you'll write back when you have the time.

Yours always,  
PFC Jasper Whitlock Hale


	3. April 5, 1969 Alice

**I know, I know, I admit it - I'm using this as a crutch to keep you all from hating me for the massive IHSTR fail... Is it working? hehe**

**Just a note about this chapter: there's a point where half a word is written and is followed by two hyphens. That's because FFn doesn't have a strikethrough option. In the original letter, that half-word is scribbled out and the correction is made. It's a Freudian slip of sorts and I'm kinda partial to it. ;)**

**Standard other notes:  
- Still broke ass po', not a Mormon and blissfully childless - guess that means I'm still not Stephenie Meyer.  
- Even if I _were_ SM, I would still thank MrsDazzled, Fer, and bent05. Without you three, this story wouldn't exist.  
- I'm sure reviews even make the great SM smile. Imagine what they do for me!**

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April 5, 1969

Dear Jasper,

I'm sorry I made you rethink everything like that. No, actually, on second thought, I'm not. I'm not sorry at all. "I was born to be a soldier" – that's the dumbest thing I've heard in a long time. You might as well have said you were born to die. Is that what you meant? Somehow I don't think so.

You sitting on my bench changed everything for me too, Jasper. Everything. I don't even really know you and I detest the idea of you being over there. I kind of hate to admit it but watching you get on that bus might have been the saddest moment of my life. It wasn't even that hard for me to watch my mother and Cynthia leave. It took just about every ounce of strength I had to not run after you. God, that sounds stupid.

I completely understand what you mean about knowing what you're missing. Trust me, I've been watching the same movie you have– and it's my favorite too. I haven't stopped asking myself "what if?" since you left. I wish you could've stayed. You have no idea how hard it's been to go to work and pretend like everything's exactly the same as usual when my head is in the clouds and my mind is in the past. My friend Angela asked me about you the other day. I couldn't figure out how she knew but she said it was obvious something was different about me and the color of my cheeks when she busted me told her it had to be a guy. Part of me wanted to tell her everything– how lucky I feel to have met you, how instantaneously comfortable and familiar I felt with you, how horrible it felt to let you go. The rest of me didn't want to tell her anything. As stupid as it sounds, I kind of like the concept of keeping you a secret. I don't want to tell anyone. I feel like telling would mean I was sharing you, and I don't want to share, I want you all to myself. That sounds really possessive and idiotic, doesn't it?

Jasper, I'm not afraid to hurt. If getting to know you means suffering a little while you're gone, then so be it. I'd rather suffer and get to know you than spend even a day pretending I never met you. Stop worrying about me– I'm a big girl, and I'm no stranger to pain. Worry about yourself. You're the one in the war zone, not me. Focus on you.

Speaking of that stupid war… tell me everything. I want to know it all. Don't even think about it upsetting me or scaring me. I want the truth, the cold, hard facts. Don't hide anything from me. And don't go sugar-coating things to protect me either. I want, no, I demand complete and total honesty in every aspect of this relat-- friendship.

Don't ever doubt I'll write you back. As long as you'll read my letters, I'll write them. I just hope you'll do the same for me.

I miss you. Stay safe. And don't forget to write your sister. Whether she wants the whole truth as I want it or not, she'll want to know you're still in one whole, handsome, gratuitously formal piece. Don't keep her waiting.

Yours,

Alice Marie Brandon, still just a private citizen


	4. April 23, 1969 Jasper

**Bit of a (comparatively) long letter this time - seems our dear soldier had a lot to say. In re-reading this before posting, I noticed some things seem kind of out of nowhere. Keep in mind it's a letter - a _response_ actually - so if it seems confusing, go back and read Alice's letter from last chapter. I promise that'll clear things up.**

**Speaking of clearing things up, hopefully this starts to answer a couple questions I got a while back. If not, ask 'em again! You know I love questions. :)**

**Standard notes:  
- I'm not Stephenie Meyer - she's more talented, but I'm cuter. :P  
- Always have to thank MrsDazzled for fixing my literary screw-ups, Fer for her undying and occasionally tri-lingual support, and bent05 for her inspiring questions. Much love for you all.  
- Reviews are rad.**

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April 23, 1969

Dear Alice,

Of course I didn't mean I was born to die! No! I just meant that enlisting felt right back then, that it seemed to fill a void I'd always kind of felt. But then I met you and I realized it never filled that void. It just covered it up, disguised it so I wouldn't recognize it or something. That slight emptiness is still there and it has something to do with you, Alice, I can feel it.

Wanting to run after the bus doesn't sound stupid at all. It sounds familiar. While you were using all your strength to not chase down the bus, I was using all mine to not get off it and run back to you. You're like a magnet to me– I feel naturally and almost unreasonably drawn to you. I don't think I'll ever understand it. All I know is fighting that pull on the bus was exhausting. I don't think I could do it again if I had to. I know I sound desperate and pathetic, but don't make me do it again, Alice. Please don't.

I feel so lucky to have met you, too and I'm glad to know the instant familiarity and comfort wasn't as one-sided as I thought it was. I felt, and still feel, the same way. I tell the other men about you, but only when they provoke me, and honestly I don't have a lot to tell them. I feel like I've known you forever but I don't really know the first thing about you, do I? I've told them what you look like, that the sound of your voice is better than hearing your favorite song on the radio, that you're an incredible combination of sweet and sour, that I taught you to dip your fries in your milkshakes. They talk about their girls and what kissing them is like and what they look like naked and how they are in bed… I don't know how they do that. I would never tell them what it felt like to kiss you. They don't deserve to know. I don't deserve to know. But for some reason, you thought I did, and I'm glad for that. But regardless of how fantastic that one moment was, how soft your lips felt, how they tasted like milkshake-covered fries and something delicious I'm assuming is just you, how I can still feel them on mine… I would never share any of that with them. That's my secret to know, just as I'm your secret. And I'm honored and downright flattered to be your secret.

I know you said to stop worrying about you but you have to know that that's not going to happen anytime soon. I'll worry about you the entire time I'm here. Just because I'm physically in a war zone doesn't mean I have to put you in one mentally. But, if you're sure you want to know the gritty details, I'll do my best to tell them. Just promise me you won't worry about me if I have to report things are getting crazy.

As long as I'm getting letters from you, Alice, you'll be getting letters from me. Even if you stop sending me letters, I'll keep sending them to you, whether you read them or not. I won't lie, it would hurt to stop getting your letters and I would always be afraid something happened to you, but know that my letters will never stop. I will always find the time to write to you.

As for writing to Lee-lee… I'm not sure I should. I don't know that she would want me to, honestly. We weren't exactly on speaking terms when I left. She was so angry with me after I enlisted that she spent almost a month refusing to even be in the same room with me or acknowledge my existence. She didn't even say goodbye to me. I stopped by her apartment on my way to the bus and all she did was nod once, hug me, and start crying before she stormed off and locked herself in her bedroom. She hates me, Alice. She's never going to forgive me for leaving her. I'm the only family she's got left… I can't talk about this…

I miss you too. I'm staying as safe as possible. Each time I've had to gather my supplies and equipment and march on out into the insanity in the jungle, I've thought of you. I've thought of your smiling face and I've been instantly reminded that no matter what it takes here, no matter what I see or have to do, I would do anything to get back home to see you again. I will come home and be subjected to another hummed chorus of "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds."

Yours always,

Jasper Hale (is that informal enough for you, private citizen Brandon?)

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**I try to avoid end notes on this fic, but this time I have to write one. Some lovely freaking people nominated Go Ask Alice (_and_ I Have Seen The Rain!) for the _Indie TwiFic Awards_. I can't tell you how touching and flattering and all sorts of other positive adjective gerunds that is to me, but what I _can_ tell you is that voting for round 1 begins _tomorrow_ (Wednesday, 8 July 2009) and ends Sunday (12 July 2009) and I would love you forever and ever if you felt I deserved your vote.**

**To vote, visit http://theindietwificawards . com/vote . aspx**

**Please, pretty pretty please, show me some love. :)**


	5. May 12, 1969 Alice

**Guess who's back? That's right - Backstreet's back, alright! Er, well, they are, but more importantly and interestingly, _I am!_**

**The people I live with keep calling me "Kim", so I guess I'm still not Stephenie Meyer. But that's okay, because I have tickets to _RENT_ for tomorrow night and I'll bet she doesn't.  
Thanks to all the people who inspire me and to, MrsDazzled, the lovely lady who keeps my abundance of commas and spaces in check and doesn't harrass me for not having anything new to let her read. And to all the awesome people who messaged me to tell me they voted for my story in the Indie TwiFic Awards (and the ones who started reading because of the awards!). Don't think I made it to the second round (won't know for sure until tomorrow night), but I appreciate the comments and votes and all that fantasticness. Love you all. **

**So, now that business is over, let's learn us a little bit about Alice, shall we?**

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May 12, 1969

Dear Jasper,

The emptiness inside you has something to do with me? I think I'm going to contort that a little into something more positive, if you don't mind. I would rather be associated with filling that void than the emptiness it leaves you feeling. I do understand what you mean though. I never noticed it before you left– maybe it wasn't there until then– but as soon as you let go of me that day, it felt like a piece of me was missing. I feel like you must have taken it with you because I haven't been able to find it anywhere. And I've searched. Even Lennon isn't fixing it. You broke me.

I would never have guessed you wanted to get off the bus. I really had no idea. You're stronger than I am, Jasper. You managed to stay on the bus. I walked a few feet before giving up and collapsing on the bench. I cried so hard for so long strangers actually stopped to try and console me. I just wanted them to go away. They would think I was insane if I told them what was wrong. I mean, "Someone I just met a couple hours ago just left for Vietnam" doesn't really sound like a valid explanation for an emotional breakdown, does it? I don't think it does. Either way, trust me, I will never, ever make you fight the pull again. I felt it too and I never want to feel the pain that fighting it causes ever again.

I feel like I've known you forever too but you're right. We don't really know anything about each other. Here, let me fix that. My name is Alice Marie Brandon (but you knew that). My birthday is January 19th– I'm 21 years old. My favorite color is yellow. I love the Beatles more than life itself. I have a soft spot for Rocky Road ice cream, despite my preference for vanilla milkshakes. I think waffle cones are the best culinary invention ever and pickles are the worst. I work with my friend Angela in her family's bookstore twelve blocks from my apartment. I walk everywhere except the grocery store (I'm not carrying the bags back that distance!). When I was little I wanted to be a ballerina. Not like how every little girl wants to be one– I had the drive, the passion, and supposedly the talent. I just didn't have the height. Now I just wish I had the money for college because more than anything I think I'd like to be a kindergarten teacher. Finally, I hate the damn war and the damn government for getting us involved and the damn Army for sending you over there. Damn them all. Your turn.

I can't promise you I won't worry about you if things get crazy. I can't promise that because I worry about you even now when you're alleging everything's calm. It's a war, Jasper– nothing is ever fine and dandy. It's violent and ruthless and chaotic and everything can change in an instant. I won't stop worrying about you until I watch you set foot on safe, firm, American, war-free soil again.

What do you mean you're not sure you should write to your sister? I don't care if she was speaking to you when you left or not– you owe her a letter, damn it! I guarantee you the only reason she didn't say goodbye to you is because it hurt her too much to think about it. You're the only family she has left here and you abandoned her, Jasper! You abandoned her! And you can't even promise her you'll come back! How dare you? For all she knows, she has nothing left now. If I were her, I'd probably be searching for a cliff to jump off of. I'm disappointed in you. I hope she's a hell of a lot stronger than I am and a hell of a lot brighter than you've been in regards to her.

I want to say I miss you. I want to say I can't wait to hum Beatles tunes (that are not about drugs) to you. I want to say lots of things I probably shouldn't. But I can't say any of them right now because I'm just too apalled at the idea of you being so caring with me and so inconsiderate with your own flesh and blood sister. I'm really disappointed in you, Jasper. I thought you were different.

Yours,

Alice (and no, no that wasn't informal enough for me, PFC Hale)


	6. June 2, 1969 Jasper

**I tried to work in an NSync reference to appease the one reader (*ahem* _Kristin_) who got all persnickety about the Backstreet line last time, but they just don't fit. Guess you'll just have to get over it, K. :P**

**So, there are these papers sitting on my desk that call themselves flight reservations to go to Dallas this weekend and meet 100 Monkeys. The papers have a name on them and it's not Stephenie Meyer. For once, I'm _elated_ not to be her.**

**Thanks as always to my many inspirations and fans, the awesomely dedicated ladies on the thread, the fantastic and talented MrsDazzled, and everyone who got I Have Seen the Rain into the final round of voting for the Indie Twific Awards. Voting ends at midnight (EST) on Wednesday, July 29th, so hurry over there if you haven't voted yet!**

**Now to appease those who ponder the inner workings of Jasper's mind...**

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June 2, 1969

Dear Alice,

I'm so sorry. Really. I feel horrible. You were completely right. I'm an idiot. An inconsiderate fool. Just know this– the first thing I did after I read your last letter was write a lengthy apology to my sister. I don't know that she'll even open it when she sees where it's coming from but I tried. And if I don't hear back, I'll try again. I'll flood her mailbox with letters until she accepts my apology if I have to. And when I get home, before I do anything else, I'll run to her. I've been a horrible brother, and I don't deserve her forgiveness, you showed me that, but I'll do anything and everything I can to earn it. Please don't be mad at me.

I don't think it counts as contorting my words if you're just accurately interpreting them. I've been thinking long and hard about that void and the emptiness and what you have to do with it all, and the fact that you feel the emptiness now too only makes me think I was right– you're the key, Alice. You're what I need to fill the void. You're what's been missing in my life. Maybe I could be the same for you someday…

You have no idea how much I wanted to get off that bus. You have no idea how hard it was to not break down and cry in my seat. Thinking about it now is damn near bringing a tear to my eye. I hate to imagine the reaction I'd get if I sat here crying over a letter from someone I don't even get to call my girl. I think it's safe to say it wouldn't be pretty. I already take enough flak from the guys about not talking about you more like how they talk about their girls back home. You're too good for that kind of talk. I'm sure their girls are too. They don't deserve them if they can't see that.

I guess you're right– it's my turn to share my life story. My name is Jasper Whitlock Hale (but you knew that– hey, I'm just following your lead). My birthday is August 26th– I'm 22 years old. My favorite color is green. I thoroughly enjoy the Beatles but I'm definitely more of a Steppenwolf kind of guy. ("Magic Carpet Ride" is amazing.) I completely agree that pickles are evil. Hard-boiled eggs are even worse. Peanuts suck too but only because I'm allergic to them. I know you're going to laugh at this but when I was little I wanted to be a cowboy. I know, I'm a walking Texan stereotype, but it's true. Honestly, I think nowadays if I could do anything I would want to study weather. I saw a lot of interesting things growing up in the South– there's nothing quite like watching a twister tear through nearby fields from your porch. Especially not while your momma's screaming for you to get your butt in the basement already. I wish I knew how it all worked. I hate the war too, Alice. I hate it for getting in between me and Lee-lee and for taking me away from you before I could even get to know you. But it'll be over soon. And even if it's not, I'm only here for another 22 months or so. I'll be home before either of us knows it.

Whether you're still inclined to say it or not, I miss you. I miss you terribly. I wish I'd had more time just to look at you. I think I'm losing my memory of what you look like. It's harder and harder to picture you each day and I know the image in my mind is doing you no justice. Maybe if you're not willing to hum me Beatles songs anymore, I could hum them to you. I'd even sing them if you wanted, which you wouldn't, since I can't sing. I'm sorry I disappointed you, Alice. Really, truly, painfully sorry. I am different, I promise. Tell me what I can say or do to prove that to you and I'll say or do it. Anything you want. Name your price. I just don't want to lose you before I even truly have you, if that makes any sense. Let me know.

Yours always (whether you'll have me or not),

Jasper


	7. Something to Come Home To A GAA Outtake

I know, I know - long time, no see, right? I honestly cannot tell you how sorry I am for that. I could give excuse upon excuse (ranging from "Christmastime is hectic" to "Sorry, I was acting in a movie with Jackson Rathbone, and no I'm not kidding"), but I know none of you want excuses; you want Alice and Jasper. That's what you come here for. So, with that said, I apologize - this isn't technically a_ Go Ask Alice_ chapter - it's an outtake I wrote as part of a Secret Santa exchange with my friends. This was my gift to Calin-Durus of _One More Shot_, _Demons and Sinners_, and _The Reborn_ fame. If you don't know those stories, you really should check them out. They're listed in my favs, and not just because the authors are my best friends (I was a fan before I was their friend). Anyway! With all that said, happy Christmas/belated Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/Festivus/New Year to each and every one of you. Even though I've failed you for so long, I love all of you terribly and you're in my thoughts at this festive, happy time. :) Consider this your Christmas/whatever gift from me. And I promise there is much more to come and you won't have to wait _nearly_ as long as you already have. Thank you so very much for sticking with me through all my epic fail. :)

Thanks upon thanks to one-third of my collective brain, Robs (Kirmit), and my Minnesotan mini-me, Molly (Cherryflavorpez), for all their help and inspiration. I love you both. :-* (Sorry I didn't change the title, Molls. I've grown attached to it. :P)

Oh, and, as always, I'm not Stephenie Meyer. Though I do have one of her characters standing in my bedroom now *swoons over Jasper cutout*. hehe

On with the show!

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**_Something to Come Home To - A _Go Ask Alice_ Outtake_**

**JPOV**

A chorus of laughter rose from the circle of muddy men sitting around the tiny fire. The fighting seemed to have ended for the night, so the guys took to their favorite pastime – talking about their women. It was always interesting to see what the others had to say, and even more interesting to see what they had back home. God _damn,_ some of those girls could've been on posters. I might even have bought a couple of those posters if I didn't have my own girl back home. My own perky little angel who put all the other women to shame.

"And, God _damn,_ you should see her ass!" Baker shouted, the others whooping and cat-calling at the image he'd evoked in all our minds. I'd be lying if I said an entirely ungentlemanly smile didn't cross my own face at his words. Just because a tiny brunette back in Chicago carried my heart around in her pocket didn't mean I couldn't think about other women. I mean, c'mon, it's not like I was dead. And the way Baker talked about his girl… _damn._

"She sounds fine," I commented, making Baker nod so fervently I thought he might break his own neck. "But she ain't nothin' compared to my Ali," I challenged.

"Unless your girl's a dead ringer for Barbara Eden, you ain't beatin' Baker, Hale," a voice in the darkness taunted. I recognized it easily as Flemming – one of the few of us without someone back home to call his own. The single guys never got it. All they saw was tits and ass, not the whole picture and never the real reason each of us loved our girls. Flemming, in particular, always got caught up in the trees instead of looking at the forest.

"Barbara Eden? Really? You gotta be kiddin' me," I laughed.

"I got six bucks and a half a pack of smokes says Hale's girl don't hold a candle to Baker's!" I shook my head, chuckling to myself and knowing the idiot was about to lose everything personal he had over here. _Let the betting begin._

"Ten bucks and the Snickers Benni sent me," Davis challenged. "Sorry, Hale. Baker's damn near got me beat on this one."

"I got shit to throw in, but I swear I'll go a year without touchin' a girl if he can win this," Ross added.

"I want that in writin'," I demanded, throwing my requisite mini notebook at him. "Gimme an IOU for that, dammit, 'cause that'll be the day. Someone notarize that shit."

The tiny notebook hit me in the side of the head a moment later and fluttered to the dirt next to me. I picked it up and flipped to the last page with writing on it, fully expecting to see "Fuck off, asshole" in Ross's illegible handwriting. Instead, I saw: "_I swear, if I wanna screw Hale's lady more than Baker's, I won't screw anybody for a year. And I'm not getting this shit notarized, so if you think that's gonna happen, you can go screw __yourself__, Hale. –DJR_" I tossed the little notebook on top of the cash, cigarettes and candy piled next to the fire and prepared to call it all mine.

"Anyone else wanna lose some of their personals to me?" I taunted. Heads all around me shook in the dim light from the fire. "Alright then." I reached into my pocket and pulled out the tattered, yellowing photo that kept me company each night. Even in the poor light, my Ali radiated beauty. Her dark, shiny hair, so much tamer in the picture than it'd been the day we met. That was what really attracted me to her the first time I saw her, her hair sticking out every which way. I'd never seen anything like it and all I could think was that it took one seriously confident individual to carry that look with any sort of grace. Then I heard her humming. "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds." I'd never tell her, but I didn't really think it was about drugs either. Sure, all four of them were clearly baked out of their heads when that song was written, but it's not about drugs. I just hoped saying so would get her to talk to me.

I looked below my Ali's perfect figure at the caption she'd scrawled across the white space on the bottom of the Polaroid. _"A girl with kaleidoscope eyes_" I knew she meant it as a reference to our meeting, but to me, it was a perfect description of the girl in the picture. The way her eyes lit up when she smiled, the way they sparkled when she laughed… it was just like looking into a kaleidoscope. And yet, there wasn't a chance in hell anyone could manufacture a kaleidoscope comparable to Ali's eyes.

"Here," I said, handing the photo over to Flemming. His eyes swept over the image, getting larger by the second as they took in my girl's flawless appearance. For just a second, the green-eyed monster within took over as I watched him damn near drool over my Ali. I didn't want anyone else's eyes taking in the vision that was my girl in her tiny, black bikini. And part of me felt like I'd betrayed her trust or something by sharing that picture. She'd taken it specifically for me, said so in the letter that came with it, not for all the other guys here. She had to know I'd ogle the hell out of it – why else would she have worn so little, splayed herself out on the ground like that, set the whole thing up so the light bounced off her skin like the sun shined just for her? – but I doubted she expected to be shown off to everyone I knew. Especially while she was keeping my mere existence, never mind the love I was more than proud to share with her – and, if things went according to plan, make to her the moment I got home – her dirty little secret.

"Well, fuck me," Flemming breathed. "Take it," he said, pushing the pile of wagers toward me. "It's all yours, man."

"No fuckin' way. I am not losing a year of nookie to Flemming and his reaction to a fuckin' Polaroid," Ross argued, snatching the picture out of Flemming's hand. His eyes just about jumped out of his head as he took in the sight before him. "Sweet baby Jesus," he muttered.

"Can my girl wear a bikini or what?" I laughed, cockiness and pride in my Ali's ability to drop jaws replacing every trace of guilt and anger I felt.

The picture made its way from soldier to soldier, each reaction more hysterical than the last. Baker even muttered a "God bless America" as Ross just kept shaking his head, his eyes wide in disbelief, repeating "I can't believe it. I lost nookie to a Polaroid. A fuckin' Polaroid."

"Damn straight, you lost nookie to a Polaroid," I taunted. "An' I got that shit in writin', so don't go tryin' to cop out on it either."

"Oh, come on! How you gonna know?" he argued, sounding more like a whiny toddler than a grown man.

"Oh, I'll know! I got eyes in the back of my head. Side of my head too. I got eyes everywhere, Ross. How ya think I'm still walkin' 'round here? It ain't luck, y'know." It couldn't have been luck. I'd used all that up meeting Ali. Every ounce of luck and every whispered prayer in my life got used up the moment I laid eyes on that girl. "I'll know. I will. Don't you doubt me."

"Oh yeah?" Davis taunted, leaning behind me. "Hey, Hale! How many fingers am I holdin' up?"

"One. An' fuck you, too," I shot back. I didn't need eyes in the back of my head to know what that jackass would do. Same thing I would've done to him.

The men all laughed at Davis's predictability as he sat back up, a disgruntled look on his face. I was sure he'd been hoping they'd laugh at him flipping me off. He should've known that wouldn't work; shit never went the way Davis hoped it would. That's why he was here in the first place.

"Hey, Hale…" I looked up as Flemming addressed me through the laughter. "You, uh, you don't mind if I keep this, do ya? Y'know… consolation prize," he said with a smirk, waggling his eyebrows and waving Ali's picture at me. How the fuck it got back to him without coming by me, I didn't know, but there was no way in hell it was staying with him.

"What the fuck?! Yes, I mind!" I yelled, leaping up from my spot and damn near stepping in the fire to get at him. He howled in laughter at my reaction and leaned back, holding the photo at arm's length and just barely out of my reach. Ross jumped up and grabbed the Polaroid from his hand, stuffing it carelessly in his shirt pocket as he backed away from the circle.

"I got three inches an' at least twenty pounds on you, an' I will beat the ever-lovin' piss out of you for that photo," I warned. "Don't make me get your blood on it. I don't wanna have to wash that shit off."

"Alright, alright," he laughed, handing back the picture. I tucked it into my shirt pocket, intent on not letting it out of my possession ever again. If I had my way, nothing would ever take Ali – or the little piece of her I had with me so far from her – away from me.

"You're a lucky man, Hale," Flemming commented, understating the obvious as he handed me my winnings.

"You have no idea," I replied, tearing open my Snickers bar and taking a less-than-satisfying bite. They were my favorite candies back home; I'd been unreasonably envious of Davis when his girl sent him a box of them a few weeks back. But they just didn't taste the same here. I didn't know if it was the heat and humidity or just the general atmosphere of war, but something was off. Deep down, I thought I knew what it was – I'd tasted something far sweeter and more satisfying than any candy bar could be since the last time I had one.

"She can't be _all_ that," Davis said bitterly. "Sure, she's fine – maybe even finer than my Benni – and I'd fuck her eight ways from Sunday, but there's gotta be a thorn somewhere on that rose."

I shuddered slightly at his choice of floral reference. "She ain't no rose." If she'd been a Rose, she wouldn't have been talking to me.

"I knew it! What is it? She got like a sixth toe or somethin'? Only speaks French?"

"No, jackass. She's fine. She's _perfect_. I meant, don't call her rose 'cause that's my sister's name. 'An she is _definitely_ not my sister." Another shudder shook me at the thought. Ali as my sister… There wasn't a word strong enough to describe how wrong that would be. Though the thought of calling her family wasn't exactly unappealing…

"Still gotta be _somethin'_ wrong with her," Davis stubbornly continued. He sat for a second, an almost comical look of sheer consternation on his face, probably wracking his brain for a new thing that could be wrong with my Ali. He wouldn't find anything. He couldn't. There wasn't wrong to find with her. At least not to me.

"I know!" he shouted like he'd just figured out the $64,000 Question. "She's a hippie chick, ain't she? Little peace-lovin' flower child. Betcha she's a protester." He raised an eyebrow at me as though challenging me to deny it. I couldn't. I wouldn't. And I didn't see why I should.

"Yes," I answered proudly. "She is. She's got her own little protest group set up back in Chicago."

The guys all roared with laughter. "Told you there was somethin' wrong with her!" Davis cackled. Protesters weren't exactly a popular group among the men here. We all thought we were fighting for something, something necessary and spectacular – our freedom and the freedom of our girls (and other loved ones) back home – and protesters generally tended to disagree. Protesters thought this wasn't our battle, thought we were sacrificial lambs, used and abused by our government. I couldn't say my Ali didn't think all that, but she got it, got why I had to be here, why a part of me wanted to be. And that was all that really mattered to me.

"Wait, don't tell me. She thinks she's gonna bring you home with a bunch of meaningless signs and meetings, right? Bring us all home just by yellin' some stupid chants no one's gonna listen to?" Flemming laughed. I hated to admit it, but a part of me agreed with him. I didn't think Ali had a chance in hell of ending this thing, no matter how many people she convinced to join her group. The way I figured it, at best she'd end up with maybe twenty people and a couple hackneyed picket signs, an article in the local paper. But I didn't care how much she managed. If her meetings and her chants and her signs made her feel like she was doing something to help, more power to her. I just hoped she wouldn't be too crushed when no one joined her and nothing got accomplished.

"Hey, if carryin' around some signs and tellin' people how she feels about us bein' over here makes her feel better, I ain't about to stop her," I defended. Not to mention I secretly had hopes of getting another picture – one with her pretty face all painted up with peace signs, a determined look in her kaleidoscope eyes.

"Sure, sure," Ross laughed. "You know she's just wasting her time, right?"

"'Course I do. But she don't need to know that."

"And you know she's protestin' _you_, right?" Flemming added, a hint of anger in his voice.

"She's protestin' the war. That ain't the same thing as protestin' the people who are fightin' it."

"May as well be." Flemming was one of the more militant members of our little troop. All of us believed, at least when we first enlisted, that we were doing the right thing by being here, but he took it to an extreme. He didn't just think we needed to help the South Vietnamese defend themselves against the Viet Cong; he thought we should be helping to take over North Vietnam, to make it one united democratic country, designed after our own. He thought every Commie on the planet needed to be exterminated to protect our own interests and security. As far as I was concerned, he'd taken one too many hits on the hash pipe.

"I don't care what she's protestin', so long as she likes it. You ain't seen the look on her face when she does somethin' she's really proud of."

"Neither have you," Baker laughed. "You told me you only met her the day you left." The laughter was nearly as loud as thunder this time.

"The day you left? You're shittin' me!" Davis cackled. "You don't know anything about her then!"

"I know everything about her."

"Oh yeah? When's her birthday?" he challenged as though his question was entirely unanswerable. Idiot.

"January nineteenth," I shot back without even thinking about it.

"What's her favorite band?" Ross chimed in. That was even easier than her birthday. Didn't he read the bottom of the picture?

"The Beatles. She thinks she's in love with John Lennon."

"What's her favorite food?" Flemming asked. They all acted like I couldn't possibly know my Ali from a hole in the wall, never mind know her as well as I did. Their attitudes disgusted me a bit, but I took an almost perverse amount of pleasure in disappointing them.

"Waffle cones an' Rocky Road ice cream," I answered smugly. "An' before you ask, her least favorite is pickles. She has a little sister named Cynthia, who moved to Boston with their mama after their daddy died a couple years back. She gets her groceries at the Safeway the same time every week, like clockwork. An' the only thing she hates more than this war an' me bein' here is when I don't come completely clean with her about the fightin'." If it weren't for the slight hint of annoyance in my voice as I listed off only a small portion of the things I knew about my girl, it would've sounded like I was reciting my grocery list.

"Still don't mean you've seen her look proud of herself," Baker mumbled, disappointed but not quite ready to admit defeat.

"Oh, I have." I nodded almost to myself as I thought about it. The look on her face as she sat on that bus stop bench, watching my bus pull away… It was both the saddest and the most glorious thing I had ever seen. She entranced me, even with tears streaming down her cheeks like rivers of depression. Even her sadness was beautiful; I couldn't help but wonder if she knew that. But it wasn't her natural beauty or her sadness that captivated me as I watched her out the window. It was the way she held herself on that bench. The way, even though she was crying, she held her head up slightly, as if ready to face anything the world threw at her. The way she almost shook with what I later learned was sheer determination not to get up and chase after me. The way she damn near glowed with pride in herself, even if she wasn't completely feeling it at the time, for not begging me to stay, for not going to pieces with me there, for giving me something to come home to instead of something to stay behind for. That was the look that sealed it for me, the look that tore my heart right out of my chest and presented it to her on a silver platter. She had it from the moment I saw her hold her chin up through the tears. And I didn't want it back. Ever.

A distant whooshing noise shook me from my bittersweet thoughts, making the now-obvious rustling behind us that much easier to hear. The all-too-familiar sounds brought me back to the here and now so quickly it made me nauseous. The realities of war – no matter how hard we tried to escape them, they always came back with a vengeance.

"Ah, shit!" Ross shouted, grabbing his pack from the ground next to his feet. "Can't we catch a fuckin' break once in a while?!"

"That _was_ our break," Davis said as he kicked some dirt on our tiny fire, extinguishing our only decent light source. The man who missed all the comforts of home in me wanted to scream at him for doing something so stupid, for making it so immediately dark that our eyes didn't have a chance to adjust; the soldier in me knew it was the smartest thing he could've done. Our light was their light, and their light was not our ally. "Get used to it!" he added with all the bitterness and well-worn wisdom of someone who'd been here as long as he had.

I shouldered my own pack, readying myself for the inevitable run, followed by the inevitable firefight. The rustling was getting louder, the footsteps getting closer. Any minute now they would break through the bushes we'd so briefly called shelter and we'd go from men missing our women to warriors fighting for our lives.

I reached into my shirt pocket and pulled out my most prized possession. Without the tiny fire, the night was too dark for me to see what was on it, but that didn't matter. I had every minute detail of my Ali's perfect figure etched in my memory. I envisioned the way the sun lit up her face as she lay so calmly on the ground back home, saw the way it danced in her hair and shadowed her curves in all the right places. I pictured her kaleidoscope eyes sparkling at me as we said goodbye and imagined the way they'd sparkle when I came home to her. I kissed her still image the way I swore I'd kiss her the moment I laid eyes on her again. I remembered the best part of her last letter to me.

"_I'm proud of you, Jazzy. Never forget that. No matter what you do over there, I'm proud of you. And I love you."_

The rustling ceased as they broke through the bushes, and a new sound took its place – the sound of heavy boots crunching sticks and twigs as we ran for our lives, hoping beyond hope to map out some kind of defense strategy before they caught up to us. I stuffed my girl's picture back in my pocket, for once not concerned with damaging it, and issued a silent prayer to anyone who was listening that I would get to go home to her and thank her in person for her love and her pride and her faith in me. The tiny prayer was so centered on my Ali that it felt almost like I was praying to _her_. I may as well have been. Her love had kept me alive on several occasions already, occasions where others hadn't been so lucky. At the time, I'd thoughtlessly chalked it up to having something to live for, but now I knew better. It wasn't about having a reason to live – we all had dozens of those. It was about having something we couldn't live without. It was about having Ali. And as I ran blindly through the thick forest that night, I thanked my lucky stars I'd ever met her and she'd ever given me something to go home to.


	8. June 24, 1969 Alice

**It's been a while since we've heard from Alice, hasn't it? Yeah, yeah. My fault. I know. But, good news, she's back! Y'know, for now at least. *begs her to stick around***

**I know you've waited a damn long time for this one, so I'll make it short. (And no comments about how the letters are short! :P) If you're reading **_**I Have Seen the Rain**_**, this part will probably seem **_**very**_** familiar to you, but it warrants being in two places, I think…**

**Thirty-seven years ago this week, the first US prisoners of war were released by the Viet Cong. This chapter, as insufficient and untimely as it may or may not be, is dedicated to each and every one of them. To the men and women of the US Armed Forces – the organized Armed Forces of any country, really – the living, the dead, the lost, the found, at war or at peace, I salute you. *bows head***

**Now, on to Alice. :) (Stop giggling, Robin. I said stop. Hey! Stop it.)**

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June 24, 1969

Dear Jasper,

I'm not mad at you. As soon as I sealed and sent that letter I felt awful for chastising you like that. It wasn't my place and I'm sorry. Something inside tells me I wouldn't have been able to stay mad at you long anyhow. Damn your Southern charm.

I still miss you. I never stopped missing you. I just didn't want to admit it when I was angry. I can be stubborn like that. And I'll still hum you Beatles songs, if only so I don't have to listen to you sing. Not that I don't think you'd be great, but really, it's the Beatles… They originally sang all their songs, and it should stay that way. Why fix what isn't broken, right? Unless of course you're massively talented. Then I would love to hear it. Maybe a twangy rendition of "All You Need is Love"?

You don't need to do anything to prove you're different. I know you are – I can feel it. Even if I had wanted proof, I couldn't have asked for better evidence than you apologizing to your sister. I sincerely hope she writes you back. She'd be a fool not to. That's not a genetic trait, is it?

Steppenwolf's not bad. I like "Born to be Wild". But they're still not the Beatles.

Somehow I'm not surprised you wanted to be a cowboy. I could see that. You'd look good in a Stetson. I'm sure lassos even have their uses nowadays… even if only to make you look like a far more handsome (but just as blonde) version of Twinkie the Kid. Just promise me you've given up giant belt buckles.

I have to admit that I share your fascination with tornadoes. I can't say I've ever seen one, but I've devoured every book the shop carries on the subject. Angela thinks it's weird and kind of morbid; I think nature's power really deserves our respect. Maybe some day you could take me to Texas and show me a tornado? I mean, I know you couldn't conjure one up for me or anything, but maybe we could go and I could hope to see one? It's a lot to ask, but I would really love it.

I started a protest group. It's really small and kind of pathetic right now, but give us time and we'll be as unstoppable as the twisters that fascinate you and me. It's going to make a real difference, I can tell. I'm going to bring you home in less than those 22 months, Jasper, you just wait and see. You say it's no time, but really, do you have any idea how long 22 months really is? It's 96 weeks. 672 days. 16,128 hours. 967,680 minutes. 58,060,800 seconds. (I like math, leave me alone.) I won't let you stay there that long.

I've been thinking… maybe seeing as how you seem to really be sold on the idea of me being what's been missing in your life… and there's something clearly missing in mine since you left… maybe that "someday" you mentioned could be today? I guess, what I'm trying to say is that, maybe if you wanted to see how it felt to have someone back home to call your girl when you're talking to the guys… well, maybe I could be her. I mean, I'd like to be her. I'm really making a fool out of myself right now, aren't I? I should just come out and say it and stop beating around the bush and procrastinating so much. Here it is: Jasper, I don't think about anyone else. At all. Ever. I don't even look at other guys when I see them anymore. They don't compare to you. The other day at work, this guy asked me out to dinner with him, and he was really nice and really attractive, but when he talked, everything he said came out in your accent. I told him I couldn't go with him… I lied and said I have a boyfriend. I know this is stupid because it's not like I can date you right now or anything, but I really don't care about that. I just want to be able to talk about my soldier and be right and not presumptuous when I call him mine. So, could I? You could call me your girl. I'd actually really like it if you did. Maybe I should shut up before I'm even more tempted to crumple this up and throw it away.

I miss you.

- Alice

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**By the way, in case you're interested, I started a blog to keep you all up to date with what I'm working on so you don't end up stuck in another seven-month hiatus, wondering if I'm dead or alive. Lol**

**http:// makkitotosimew . blogspot . com**

**Check it out. :)**

**Oh! And review too! Please? I said please! ;)**


	9. July 11, 1969 Jasper

**Well, hello there, ladies and possible gent or two. Just a few quick notes before we see what Jasper has to say - you'll bear with me, right? Oh, good. Thank you. :)**

**Quick Notes:  
1) Still not Stephenie Meyer, and damn glad, because I have 100 Monkeys tickets for this Sunday and I'm thinking she doesn't.  
2) _Go Ask Alice_ is up for a couple _Everything's Bigger in Texas_ _Awards_! Best Southern Charm Fic and Best Original Storyline - can you believe it?! I'm eighty shades of thrilled, not even gonna lie. Voting runs through 12 April 2010 (see also, this coming Monday) and I swear I will love you for all eternity if you vote for this story. Well, you're reading, so I already love you, but you know what I mean. Here's the link to vote, in case you feel the story deserves it: .... Okay, correction. The link doesn't want to freakin' post right (*kicks FFn*), but it can be found in the next point. *grumbles*  
3) I have me a blog, in case you missed the memo. http://makkitotosimew(dot)blogspot(dot)com And I really think you might want to drop in... We've been playing hotseat, and this session's victim just so happens to be the young man responsible for this letter. Ask him anything! And I do mean _anything_. hehe**

**Alright, no more ado - have at him, ladies. ;)**

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July 11, 1969

Dear Alice,

I'm glad you're not mad at me. I won't lie, I was worried, but I'm glad to know sticking to my roots finally got me something other than made fun of.

You'll be happy to know Lee-lee wrote me back – apparently foolishness is a recessive trait and she missed out on it. She's still not happy with me, but she appreciated the apology and promised to stop ignoring me. It's not perfect, but it's a step in the right direction, and I have you to thank for it. You were right to chastise me, as you put it, Alice. It was wrong of me to just let things go on like that. I was wrong (don't ever tell Lee-lee I admitted that).

Trust me, I've moved on from the years of belt buckles the size of my head. I do have a Stetson lying around somewhere though, and if you promise not to call me Twinkie the Kid again, I might just be willing to wear it again sometime. And there is nothing I'd like more than to take my girl home and show her what Texas is really like. I think you'd like it, even if you didn't get to see a twister. Wimberley is so different from Chicago. In Chicago, you're always surrounded by bricks and metal and people in a hurry. Wimberley is green and natural and relaxed. Something tells me you'd love it like I do. I'll take you there soon as things calm down and I come home. I promise.

Alice, has anyone ever told you that you ramble when you're nervous? Because you do, even on paper. And even on paper, it's one of the most adorable things I've ever seen. I'm glad you didn't throw your letter away. If you'd rewritten it, it would have been rehearsed and filtered and not your honest thoughts and feelings. I like your honest thoughts and feelings. I like how straight-forward you are with me. Most of all, I like that you let me be the luckiest man over here and call you my girl. If that guy comes back to the shop, you let him know you're taken and if he doesn't stop asking after you, your soldier's going to come back and find him. And your soldier's got a mean streak when necessary.

I'm trying to picture you leading a protest and I just can't. Sure, you're a little spitfire – no doubt about that – and I'd follow you into metaphorical battle, but I just can't see you being a hippie pied piper. I can't see you marching and carrying signs and leading a poorly rhymed chant. Actually, try as I might, I can't see you at all. The only time I can is when I'm lying down to go to sleep at night, tacky as that sounds. I can hear you and I can taste you, but I can't see you, and that is unimaginably frustrating. I almost hate to ask, but is there any chance of remedying that? It'd be nice to have a picture of my girl to keep with me, a pretty little reminder of what I get to come home to.

I know you want me to come home early, Alice, but there's only one way that's going to happen and neither of us wants to see that. Believe me, I have faith in you and what you can do with your friends, but a few dozen angry people with picket signs aren't going to bring us home. We're going to have to end this the old-fashioned way. And I know I'm going to be here a good, long time, but did you really have to enumerate each second, baby? It makes it seem longer than it really is, and I don't want to be away from you a second more than necessary. No more crazy math until I get home, okay? Not that I don't love your brain… I'm just hoping you might use it for good instead of evil and stop making me feel so damn lonely with your second counting. Though, I do appreciate that you didn't break the seconds down into nanoseconds or anything like that. I don't think I'd want to see how long that number would be.

I miss you too.

Your soldier,

Jasper


End file.
